


when you wake up

by KelseyO



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, Friendship, Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She takes a step, and a jolt of pain rockets through her left leg. Her knees buckle and she lets out a grunt of pain, and as the sounds of the hallway fade into silence, they're replaced with soft, steady beeps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	when you wake up

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr user gleekterry for the FaberryCon Fic Fundraiser; beta'd by ProfessorSpork.

_I’ve got a tight grip on reality_   
_But I can’t let go of what’s in front of me here_   
_I know you’re leaving in the morning_   
_When you wake up_   
_Leave me with some kind of proof it’s not a dream_

.

It’s so surreal, striding down the hallway in her Cheerios uniform again.  Even after all she’s been through, the pregnancy and subsequent Skank and baby-stealing detours, people still clear the way for her like she’s royalty, and she kind of can’t believe it’s this easy to feel on top of the world again.

(She’s not sure if it’s actually her or just the red and white polyester, but whatever it is, she’ll take it.)

Quinn turns the corner and her smile disappears; two sophomore Cheerios have Rachel cornered at her locker, and it doesn’t look like a pleasant conversation.  She squares her shoulders and heads right toward them, hands on her hips as she stops behind the Cheerios.  Becca, maybe, and Shannon or Shana or something.

“Ladies,” she greets, and the girls flinch while Rachel visibly relaxes.

“H-hi, Quinn,” one of them replies with a nervous smile.  “We were just—”

“Leaving Rachel alone, I would hope.”

The other girl—Becca, she thinks?—nods quickly.  “Of course.”

Quinn nods before her eyes dip a little.  “What are you gonna do with that slushy in your hand?”

Becca does a double take, like she’s forgotten she was holding the cup.  “Nothing,” she blurts, then takes a dramatic sip.  “I mean—it’s mine.  For me.  Blue raspberry is my favorite flavor.”

“Coach Sylvester didn’t tell you?”

“Tell us what?” Shannon asks, exchanging glances with Becca.

“Coach says Cheerios can only buy red flavors—cherry, strawberry, and that pomegranate lime flavor she’s trying to patent.  New rule this year.  Matches our uniforms.”

They both look down at their outfits.

“I would get rid of that before Coach sees you,” Quinn says, glancing around for a moment like she’s making sure nobody’s listening.  “You don’t want her to think you’re plotting against the squad, let alone disobeying one of her rules.”

Their eyes widen and Becca swallows hard.  “See you later, Quinn,” she says, doing a terrible job of masking her nerves, and she and Shannon hurry away in the opposite direction.

“That seems a bit excessive,” Rachel says with a frown, “Even for Coach Sylvester.”

Quinn laughs and leans over a bit, like she’s sharing a secret.  “That’s because I made it up.”

Rachel’s eyes light up and the huge smile spreads across her face, but then it shrinks into a much shyer expression.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.”

She smiles again.  “Thank you.”  For a moment it looks like she’s struggling with something, and then she’s wrapping Quinn into a meek—or is it gentle?—hug.  “We’ve come a really long way,” Rachel whispers into her ear.

Quinn smiles and squeezes back.  “I like it here.”  When they pull apart, she nods her head down the hallway.  “Walk you to class?”  She blushes the moment the sentence leaves her lips.  “Y’know, in case those two get any other ideas.”

“Dabbling in the security business, are we?” Rachel asks with a coy smile.

Quinn rolls her eyes but can’t stifle a grin.  “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

She takes a step, and a jolt of pain rockets through her left leg.  Her knees buckle and she lets out a grunt of pain, and as the sounds of the hallway fade into silence, they’re replaced with soft, steady beeps.

She opens her eyes.

A nurse is standing next to her bed, adjusting the small mountain of pillows propping up her casted leg; she glances at Quinn and gives her a sympathetic smile.  “I didn’t mean to wake you.  Is the morphine wearing off?”

Quinn doesn’t answer, just swallows thickly as her bottom lip wobbles and her eyes fill with tears.

“Here, I’ll up your dose a bit.”  The nurse goes to the other side of her bed and fiddles with the IV drip.  “If the pain starts to get worse again, just press this button and someone will come help you.  Okay, hon?”

Quinn nods and tries to blink away the moisture as the nurse leaves, and when the door closes, Rachel stirs in the armchair in the corner.

“Quinn?” she asks quietly, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes before scrambling to her feet.  “What’s wrong?”

.

Her phone vibrates again and the words “ON MY WAY” simultaneously relieve her and make her more anxious.  The message barely gives her any information—how far from the courthouse is Quinn?  Did she just get into her car or is she almost here?  Would it have killed Quinn to supply her with an ETA?

“Rach…”

“Just one more minute,” she interrupts as calmly as possible, trying her best to ignore the growing pout on Finn’s face.  “I promise she’ll be here soon.”

His shoulders slump for the umpteenth time today.  “Why is this so important to you?  She’s just—”

“One of my closest friends, and someone I care about greatly.”  She thinks about the words she and Quinn exchanged in the bridal shop, and she clenches her jaw a little.  “I want her to be here.”

Finn nods slowly and gives her the smallest smile.  “Okay,” he says softly, “We’ll wait.”

She returns his smile.  “Thank you,” she says and kisses him on the cheek.  “I’m gonna go wait for her outside… get some air.”  Rachel heads down the hall, around the corner, and out the front doors, shivering against the light breeze as it brushes against her bare arms.

It’s so quiet out here—no questions, no urgency, no suffocating under the weight of a dozen gazes.  Just the cars in the road beyond the parking lot, swishing back and forth, and after a short minute or two a familiar red VW Beetle pulls in.

“Sorry I’m late,” Quinn says as she gets out, though both her tone and facial expression are anything but apologetic.

Rachel manages a small smile.  “No, you’re not,” she says quietly.

Quinn chews the inside of her cheek.  “Look, you know how I feel about this wedding.  And just because you re-invited me doesn’t mean I’m going to lie about—”

“I know.”

She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly.  “You really think you’re ready?”

Rachel wraps her arms around herself.  “If I say yes, will you believe me?”  She means it to be a joke, but there’s a thickness to her voice and her bottom lip is trembling just a little.

Quinn leans sideways against her car.  “Will _you_ believe you?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Rachel mutters, her eyes falling to the pavement.

“An important one.  Rach,” she continues softly, “I’m not trying to convince you that this isn’t what you want.  I’m trying to make you understand that this isn’t your only option.”

“I love Finn,” Rachel replies immediately.

“I know that, and that’s not what I meant.  Just hear me out for a second, okay?”

Rachel nods.

“Think about Broadway.  Being onstage has been your dream basically since birth.  You know it’s what you want to do for the rest of your life; you can feel that passion in your _bones_.  It feels obvious… permanent.  Right?”

She nods again.  “Of course.”

“Okay.  Now think about Finn.”

Rachel swallows hard; she wishes Quinn would stop looking at her like that.

“What does he feel like?”

“Like… like Finn,” she answers with a shrug, then chokes out “I _love_ him,” dabbing at a tear starting to form in her eye.

Quinn is silent for a beat.  “I know you do,” she repeats, “but is it the kind of love you can feel in your bones?”

Rachel sniffs.  “Of course it is,” she whispers.

“Rachel,” Quinn continues gently, “The thing about someone asking you to marry them is that you’re allowed to say no.”

She opens her mouth to argue but Quinn cuts her off.

“Or you can say ‘not yet,’ or ‘I’d like to someday.’  But you don’t have to say _yes_.”

“Quinn,” she is all she manages, and her voice cracks.

Quinn takes one of her hands and squeezes.  “The only thing you owe to Finn is honesty.  Nothing more, and nothing less.”

Both of Rachel’s cheeks are wet now as she looks down at their hands.

“What are you so afraid of?” Quinn asks softly.

Rachel sniffs again.  “What am I supposed to tell him?”

“The truth.  And if he loves you as much as he says he does, he’ll understand.”

Rachel squeezes her hand back.  “Will you come with me?”

Quinn nods.  “You ready?”

“If I say yes, will you believe me?” Rachel replies with a nervous smile.

“Yes, I will,” Quinn says firmly, and closes her car door.

.

Rachel’s eyes open and suddenly the stupid courthouse parking lot has disappeared, replaced by Quinn’s stupid hospital room, and as she blinks the sleep and the tears out of her eyes, she glances toward the bed.

Even in the dim overnight lighting, she can see that Quinn’s eyes are open and glistening with moisture.

“Quinn?” she calls out softly, trying to push away her own emotions as she uncurls herself from the armchair.  “What’s wrong?”

Quinn swallows.  “I’m fine,” she says, but her voice cracks and she won’t meet Rachel’s eyes.

Rachel pushes a plastic chair next to Quinn’s bedside and perches herself on the edge of it, nibbling her lip as she studies the monitors like she knows what any of the numbers mean.  “Your mom is down the hall filling out more paperwork,” she explains, her gaze still glued to the readouts.  “Everyone else went home to get some sleep.”

Quinn wets her lips.  “Why are you still here?”

Something tightens in Rachel’s chest.  “I-I can leave, if you—”

“That’s not what I—”  Quinn closes her eyes briefly and takes a deep breath.  “I’m sorry, Rachel.  I didn’t mean it that way.”

Rachel’s eyebrows pull together and her eyes drop to her lap.  “ _You’re_ sorry?  Quinn, this is all my—”  A tear slides down her cheek.  “This is all my fault,” she croaks.

Quinn rolls her eyes.  “How many times are we going to have this conversation?”

“I have dreams,” Rachel says thickly, trying to wipe the tears from her cheeks, “almost every night.  Some where I don’t keep texting you, some where I do but you still make it to the courthouse and convince me to call off the wedding.  I just… I wish…”

“Please don’t do this, Rachel,” Quinn interrupts, her voice hard but still wobbling.  “What’s done is done, and I can’t keep listening to you—”

“I didn’t have to text you.”

“I didn’t have to text you back,” she replies without missing a beat.

“I didn’t have to try to get married at eighteen,” Rachel blurts.

The corner of Quinn’s mouth twitches.  “Well, I can’t argue with you there.”

Rachel sniffs.  “You were the only person who was brave enough to tell me I shouldn’t do it.”  She blinks away another tear and looks Quinn square in the eye.  “You’re _always_ the only person brave enough to tell me.”

“And you’re _always_ such a great listener,” Quinn says dryly, cocking her eyebrow.

Rachel blinks and another tear falls down her cheek; she leans over the edge of the bed and buries her face in her arms.  “I’m so sorry, Quinn,” she sobs, her voice slightly muffled by the blankets, “I’m so, so sorry.”

A few moments later she feels Quinn’s fingers brush against her wrist.  “Hey.”

She looks up wearily, and when she finally blinks away the blurriness, Quinn’s eyes are soft.

“C’mere,” she murmurs, slowly shifting over a few inches and then patting the space beside her.

Rachel shakes her head.  “No, I—I wouldn’t want to hurt—”

“I’m not made of glass, Rachel,” she all but growls.  “Get in the damn bed.”

Rachel tries to sniff back the next round of tears as she carefully climbs over the short plastic railing; she tucks herself into Quinn’s side and her heart nearly bursts when an arm wraps around her shoulders.

“I want you to listen to me,” Quinn says, her voice quiet but firm as she draws slow circles on Rachel’s shoulder blade.  “What happened is not your fault.”

Rachel grips the side of Quinn’s hospital gown but doesn’t say anything, and she feels Quinn’s breath against her temple.

“I don’t blame you,” she whispers.  “You hear me?  I blame myself for not paying enough attention to the road, and I blame the other driver for ignoring the stop sign, but I _do_ _not blame you_.”

Rachel loosens her hold on the fabric and instead brushes the tip of her thumb back and forth along one of Quinn’s ribs.

“Okay?”

She nods and croaks “Okay.”

There’s a stretch of silence and Rachel’s eyelids begin to droop—she’s barely gotten any sleep these last few nights, and the few hours of shut-eye she _has_ managed have been filled with those exhausting what-if dreams.

“Do you need anything?” she mumbles.  “Pillows or water or something?”

Quinn doesn’t respond, and Rachel counts the rises and falls of Quinn’s chest until she can’t keep her eyes open any longer.


End file.
